


More Than Skin Deep

by frecklesarechocolate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:19:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frecklesarechocolate/pseuds/frecklesarechocolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas tries to adjust to being without his grace, and Dean tries to adjust to having his friend around all the time. This is a tiny bit angsty.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Than Skin Deep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tundraeternal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tundraeternal/gifts).



> Happy birthday, sweetie!
> 
> Thanks to [Plantainleaf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/plantainleaf/pseuds/plantainleaf), best beta ever for her help!

Cas has been with them for about two weeks. Two weeks since the angels fell, two weeks in which he has said not one word about what happened to him; not one word of explanation about the other angels. Two weeks, and the only thing he's said was, "I'm sorry, Dean. I can't help Sam. I'm sorry."

His shoulders had slumped and he'd headed back toward the entrance to the bunker. Dean was up in a flash, grabbing for Cas, practically yanking him backward before Cas could go through the door and back out of their lives.

"Oh no you don't," Dean had said, tightening his grip on his friend. He'd steered Cas away from the door, back into the residential part of the bunker and showed him where the shower was.

Cas had undressed slowly, letting his tattered clothing drop to the floor until he stood naked in the middle of the large echoing chamber. He'd showered, enjoying it much more than he'd expected to. When he'd gotten out, his regular clothing was gone, replaced by a pair of jeans, a t-shirt that said "Def Leppard" on the front, and a pair of dark gray boxer briefs.

In the two weeks since Cas had arrived at the bunker, he’d been like a ghost, drifting in and out of his room at odd hours, bathing every few days and generally avoiding contact with the others entirely, no matter how much Dean, Sam or Kevin tried to entice him out of his room. Dean had even enlisted Charlie in the effort, but she'd been no more successful than the rest of them.

Dean decides that enough is enough.

He stands outside Cas's door and pounds on it. "C'mon Cas, you can't hide in there forever." There's no response, so Dean tries again, pounding so hard that he can hear the door rattling on its hinges.

"Cas!"

Just as he's about to try banging on the door again, it opens, and Cas sticks his head through the narrow opening. "What do you want, Dean?"

"I want you to stop moping around, Cas."

Cas squints a little at his friend. "It doesn't work like that, Dean." Cas tries to shut the door, but Dean's wedged his boot into the opening. Cas frowns at Dean's foot and tries to move Dean out of the way, with little success. Dean pushes at the door to get it open some more, and Cas pushes back. They end up in a shoving match that would rival any playground showdown, but Dean is the eventual winner, managing to shove the door open.

Cas stumbles backward and trips, landing on the bed, and Dean's only just able to catch himself before he falls as well. They eye each other, breathing heavily.

"What the fuck is your problem, Dean?" Cas asks.

Dean's eyes widen at the curse. "No problem, Cas. Just. Checking to see if you’re doing okay.”

Cas sighs heavily. "I am the reason the angels fell, Dean. I lost my grace. I'm not okay. I'm never going to be okay."

Dean doesn't have a response to this, and really, what answer could he possibly give? This isn't really the kind of thing that calls for a 'rah-rah you can do it' kind of speech, nor is it something that can be fixed by shooting at it. Not easily, anyway, Dean thinks darkly.

Dean plops down on the edge of the bed next to Cas, and they sit together in silence for a long while.

* * *

 

They insist that Cas get an anti-demon possession tattoo. And, since he's alone in his vessel now - one that's a bona fide angel vessel - Dean carves an anti-angel sigil into a piece of silver that he fashions into a bracelet for Cas to wear. They avoid talking about the "ifs" and "maybes" that are behind these thoughts.

Cas watches as the tattoo artist inks him up, working carefully on the spot right over Cas's heart. Cas bites his lower lip against the pain, but otherwise gives no indication that there's a sharp needle prickling at his skin over and over.

Dean watches too, noticing the small things about Cas that he's never had the chance to before: the breadth and width of Cas's shoulders, balanced out by a narrow, tapered waist; muscled arms that had been hidden by the poorly fitting suit and trench coat but now are exposed as Cas reclines, shirtless, in the tattoo chair. The way his collar bones jut out, and the neat hollow between them. The smooth expanse of skin across – Dean tears his eyes away, because holy shit, he's macking on his best friend in a fucking tattoo parlor.

He can't keep his eyes averted too long, though. He's drawn to the space beneath Cas's jaw, and Dean wonders what Cas would taste like, and if he'd still be able to feel the power of the angel beneath his friend's skin if he were to lay his hand on Cas's chest.

The guy finishes the tattoo, and Dean inspects it to make sure the symbol is perfect. He's hyper aware of Cas's breathing, as hot, moist air caresses his cheek. Cas smells like Irish Spring soap, tattoo ink and the slightly acrid scent of someone who's been repressing their pain response beneath it all.

“Dean,” Cas says, and Dean startles, caught in Cas’s pull. He shakes his head, and pronounces the tattoo more than satisfactory.

* * *

When they get back, Dean's a little bit at a loss for what to do with Cas. Cas seems to be in the same boat, and they stand around the kitchen for a few awkward moments, staring at each other.

Sam comes into the kitchen and sees them standing there and rolls his eyes. "Really?"

Dean scowls. "What?"

Sam just shakes his head. "Nothing."

Cas manages a tiny smile, which he directs at Sam. "You're looking better, Sam. I'm glad to see it."

"Thanks Cas, you too," Sam looks between his brother and their friend and rolls his eyes again. "Cas, you want a tour of the place? Dean's found some cool stuff here."

Cas turns to Dean. "Really?"

"Sure, come on, Cas, I'll show you around," Dean says gruffly.

Sam watches them go, muttering, "Idiots," under his breath.

* * *

 

Despite the fact that Dean has done a lot of exploring of the bunker, they get lost. They're down a level, maybe two, and they've gotten turned around. Rather than wander aimlessly, Dean tries a door he's never opened, and they find a large room filled with various training equipment. A large punching bag hangs from the ceiling in one corner, a training dummy for martial arts in in another, and there are fencing pads and epees on the wall. Smack in the center is a boxing ring, and several mats hang on the walls.

"I thought you said the Men of Letters didn’t do.... all this," Cas says, waving his arm to encompass the entire room.

Dean shrugs. "That was the impression Henry – my grandfather – gave." Dean does a quick circuit of the room. "The equipment looks like it's in pretty good shape, considering." He tilts his chin at the boxing ring. "Want to do a little sparring?"

At first, it looks like Cas is going to refuse, but after a minute, he nods slowly.

They shuck their shoes and duck underneath the ropes. Standing across from one another, they eye each other warily, waiting for some signal. It doesn’t come, and Cas crouches down and sweeps out a leg so fast that Dean can’t even really see it. Before he’s aware of what’s going on, he’s lying on his back, Cas looking down on him.

Cas holds out his hand and helps Dean stand. Dean takes advantage of gravity and pulls Cas toward him, ducking so Cas gets tossed over his shoulder. Cas falls to the floor of the ring with a soft “oof,” but is up on his feet again in no time.

They circle around now, their stances guarded. Cas feints to the right, and Dean doesn’t go for it, standing his ground, but when Cas feints again, Dean’s caught, and Cas clips him on the jaw. They continue on like that for a few minutes, not really hurting each other, testing each other out. Dean tries a full on assault, but Cas bends back, whipping out of the way in time, and then Cas is on him, arms and legs moving at incredible speed. Dean’s really only able to defend himself, throwing up his arms and trying to move out of Cas’s way, but Cas is a tornado of power, seemingly coming at Dean from every side.

Cas backs Dean into one of the corners, and he’s looming over his friend, breathing heavily, a drop of sweat hanging from his chin, when all the energy seems to drain out of him. He slumps down to the floor, and puts his elbows on his knees, his head lowered. Dean kneels down next to him.

“Cas?”

Cas just shakes his head and swallows, his eyes glittering and bright, but otherwise clear. He clears his throat. “Apologies, Dean. Don’t know what came over me.”

Dean shrugs. “You’re pissed, I get it.”

“Not at you, though,” Cas says.

Dean laughs. “Yeah, but I’m here, and Metatron isn’t.” He rocks back on his heels and contemplates his friend for a moment, chewing a bit on his lip. Cas seems smaller somehow, the loss of his grace somehow showing in the way in which he carries himself. But the power of the angel is still there beneath the surface, even if he doesn’t hum with it the way he used to.

Cas’s eyes flicker to Dean’s, watching Dean as Dean watches him, and there’s a moment of silent communication between the two of them. Dean’s not quite sure what it means, but it’s full of promise.

Dean clears his throat, stands up and holds out his hand. “Come on, let’s find our way out of here and go grab a beer, huh?”

* * *

 

After that, Cas seems to be a little bit better, somewhat more a part of the world than before, but only just. He still doesn’t eat very much, and it takes a lot of coaxing to get him to do something that isn’t hanging out in the Men of Letters library.

And that, at least, is something that has given him purpose. He spends almost all of his waking hours in the library, working his way through one thick volume after another, researching, taking notes, referencing and cross-referencing. He’s on a mission to find out how to undo what Metatron did, and he’s not easily deterred.

Every time a hunt comes up, Dean tries to get Cas to come along, and every time, Cas says, “No thank you”, tapping whatever tome is in front of him at the moment. It’s as if he’s concerned that he’s going to miss something vital if he steps away from the library even for a little while.

When they get back from their latest hunt, Cas is in his usual spot in the library.

“Find something, Cas?” Sam asks as they trudge in.

“No,” Cas says. “I don’t think there’s anything in the Men of Letters resources that can help us.”

Dean frowns. “You going to give up, then?”

Cas flips the latest book closed. “No, I don’t think so. There are probably other avenues for us to explore.” He shrugs a bit, a motion that Dean finds a little jarring, given how human it is. Cas seems not to notice Dean’s discomfort, and he follows Dean back to his room.

Dean drops his duffel on the bed and chucks his jacket onto one of the chairs. Cas leans on the doorway and watches silently as Dean unpacks.

“What is it, Cas?” Dean asks after he’s got all the laundry in the basket.

“I’d like to get another tattoo,” Cas says, and of all the things Dean had been expecting Cas to say, this was definitely not one of them.

“What?” Dean asks.

Cas pulls a piece of paper out of his back pocket, unfolds it, and hands it to Dean. On it is a pair of hand drawn wings. There are several erasure marks, as if the artist had stopped and started several times, trying to get the lie of the feathers and the angle of the coverts and axillaries just right.

“You want this?”

Cas nods. “Across my shoulders and upper arms.” He brushes his shoulders and arms in a sweeping motion.

Dean whistles. “That’s gonna hurt a whole lot more than the first one did.”

Cas just looks at Dean, his lips pursed lightly. Dean holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Let me call the guy, see if he’s got time in the next couple of days. This’ll take a while to do.”

Cas pushes off the door jamb and rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you, Dean.”

“Yeah, sure, Cas.”

* * *

 

Cas’s second tattooing session goes much like his first. The tattoo guy, Zeke, doesn’t even raise an eyebrow at Cas’s request, just orders Cas to lie on his stomach in the chair and gets to work. Not one sound comes from Cas, and he stays stock still almost the entire time, not even needing a bathroom break, something that Zeke comments on about two hours into the process.

“You sure, dude? Cuz I can keep goin’, but this is a decent stopping point, if you need to go.”

Cas just shakes his head, and Zeke shrugs as if to say, “whatever,” and continues on. Dean stays the entire time, fascinated by the artistry that appears under Zeke’s needle. The wings appear little by little, each feather and joint exquisite in detail. Other than the low hum of the machinery and whatever it was that Zeke is singing under his breath, it’s quiet in the room, almost eerily so.

Finally, Zeke announces that he’s finished, and he finds a mirror so Cas can see. Cas tilts the mirror this way and that, looking at the tattoo from every angle. He nods once and smiles at Zeke, thanking him.

Cas keeps the smile on his face all the way back to the bunker – a drive that takes more than an hour, because Zeke is the best in the state, and Dean wanted to be sure that Cas got the best, even if it means driving across half of Kansas to do it. Dean can’t help but watch his friend out of the corner of his eye. The smile on Cas’s lips is one that Dean hasn’t seen very much, and it’s been a very long time since he saw it last. Dean’s heart gives a little squeeze as he thinks about it.

They’ve stopped at a light about fifteen minutes’ drive from the bunker when Cas says, “What?”

“Hm?” Dean asks.

“You’re smiling.”

Dean thinks about all the things he can say; gruff, irritable responses that will discourage any further discussion, or defensive snarky ones that will brush Cas side, but the squeezing feeling in his heart is still there, and Dean’s feeling pretty light. So he says, “You look almost happy.”

“Almost?” Cas says, and a quick glance at Cas shows that his eyebrow is arched.

The light turns green, and Dean drives on, not really answering Cas’s question. “It looks good on you, man, that’s all.”

Cas hums in response, still sort of lost in his own world. He shifts slightly in his seat, causing the loose neck of the shirt he’s wearing to slip down and display a bit more of the tattoo. It catches Cas’s eye, and he turns his head to look at his exposed shoulder. He’s mesmerized by the sight of the artwork.

* * *

 

Cas had never really cared much about human conventions on clothing, but now that he has the tattoo – his wings – he seems to care even less, going around the bunker shirtless whenever he can. Sam and Kevin think it’s hilarious, but Dean finds it damn distracting. The wings ripple across Cas’s back as he moves, especially when he bends down to pick something up and then reaches, such as when he’s putting books away on high bookshelves. Cas carries himself differently, his posture a bit straighter, his stride regaining some of his old confidence.

Dean stares. A lot. To the point where Kevin notices, and when Kevin starts noticing stuff like that, well.

The thing is, that for Dean, the problem is twofold. One, Cas is his friend, and Dean doesn’t want to lose the best friend he’s ever had (again). Two, there’s no guarantee that Cas will stick around. Sure, he’s there now, but he’s quite literally grounded, and Dean doesn’t know what Cas would choose to do if he gets his grace back.

When. _When_ he gets his grace back.

Dean’s pretty convinced that Cas won’t choose him when the time comes.

So Dean ruthlessly tamps down on the squeezing of his heart, and the breathlessness that comes when Cas directs a smile his way. Dean locks away thoughts about being closer to his best friend; feeling Cas’s arms around him, holding him tightly. He dumps thoughts of kissing Cas into a mental bottomless pit, and tries to get on with his life.

Of course, it’s not that easy. It never is.

Sam corners Dean in his room one day.

“You are a moron,” Sam says without preamble.

Dean snaps shut the book he’s reading. “What?”

Sam sprawls in the chair closest to the door. “You heard me. You. Are a moron.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Sam?”

“Cas. You obviously have feelings for him, but you’re ignoring them and you’re so blind that you don’t see...”

“Oh my God, Sam! I am not having a conversation with you about my feelings!” Dean tries to slip round Sam and leave, but Sam’s much faster than his enormous body makes him seem. He’s up, out of the chair and blocking Dean’s way before Dean can get past him.

“You don’t have to have a conversation. But you are going to listen.”

“Listen? Dr. Phil, you are out of your mind. I’m not interested.”

Sam shoots Dean a knowing look. “Oh, you’re interested. You’re so far gone on him that it’s obvious even to a blind man. You’re running around like a lovesick puppy and...”

“I am not!” Dean protests hotly.

Sam snorts. “Oh yeah? Then why are you hiding out in your room?”

“I’m not hiding out. It’s just. It’s quieter in here.” Dean knows it’s a lame excuse even as it’s leaving his mouth.

“Quiet. More quiet than the library with Cas. Right.” Sam lets that sink in for a moment, then he says, “You’re hiding, and because of it, you’re missing out on what could be the best thing that happened to you since... since _ever_ , Dean.”

Sam stops talking. Dean’s speechless, not even trying to come up with a retort or a denial, but he’s obviously thinking about what Sam has said.

“Give it a shot, Dean. What you gain will be way better than what you think you’re giving up.” Sam pulls Dean into a brusque, one-armed hug. “I just want you to be happy, okay?” Sam says softly, and then he’s gone.

* * *

 

If this were a romantic comedy, then Dean would immediately realize what it was that he wanted. There would be the rising soundtrack of an iconic pop love song as he runs out to the library, grabs Cas and kisses him to the applause of all.

But it’s not, and Dean kicks his door closed and plops back down on his bed. He picks up his book and tries to get back into it, but of course he can’t, so he throws it at the door, where it lands with a satisfying “thwack!” and slides to the floor. He folds his arms across his chest and mutters something unflattering about Sam under his breath.

* * *

 

It takes Dean another three days to come to his senses, which Sam figures is actually lightning speed for his emotionally stunted brother. After dinner, Sam and Kevin are washing up, and Cas is clearing the table. Dean watches Cas for a moment – ogles, really – because once again, Cas is shirtless.

Dean says, “Goddammit,” under his breath, and grabs Cas’s hand before Cas can pick up another pile of dirty dishes. Dean pulls Cas out of the kitchen, down the hall and into his room, where he crowds Cas against the closed door.

“Dean?” Cas asks, and Dean can almost see Cas’s pulse fluttering beneath his jawline. Cas swallows audibly, the click of his dry throat loud in the quiet room.

“Cas, I...” Dean begins, but he stops, because he has no idea what he wants to say. Dean is a man of action, and while he can certainly be eloquent when he wants to be, sometimes he’s better with actions.

So he does what he’s been wanting to do for ages – weeks, months, even years. He cups his friend’s face between his palms and he kisses Cas. There’s absolutely no hesitation on Cas’s part, he responds immediately, wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and pulling him closer – as close as he can – humming a bit as he angles his head and settles into the kiss.

The kiss is soft, impossibly sweet and even tentative, even though it’s obvious they are both very on board with the proceedings. Cas tastes spicy, like ginger and nutmeg, and the strong arms around Dean’s waist ground him, letting him relax into the kiss. Whatever fear he’s been feeling when he’d dragged Cas in his room is gone. There’s only the press of his friend’s lips and the merest hint of his tongue, plus the solid wall of Cas’s chest. Cas’s scent surrounds him and Dean feels exhilarated and safe all at once, though his stomach is swooping up and down with abandon.

Eventually, Dean rests his forehead against Cas’s. His hands are tangled up in the mess that is Cas’s hair, its thick strands between his fingers, and Cas has one hand on Dean’s back, while the other has lowered to grip Dean’s butt. Cas gives it a squeeze, and they laugh. Cas pushes away from the door and walks Dean backward until the backs of Dean’s legs hit the edge of his bed, and Dean topples onto it. Cas leans over and kisses Dean, and then settles into his lap.

Cas’s weight is warm and reassuring, and Dean’s hands settle around his friend’s waist, holding onto one hip and sliding up and down Cas’s back. They don’t speak, they just kiss and revel in soft touches, smiling at each other, letting their body language say all that they cannot.

**Author's Note:**

> This was partially inspired by [this piece of fan art](http://casdasgay.tumblr.com/post/55516368858/go-to-my-deviantart-for-a-better-version-damn) and [this](http://deanhugchester.tumblr.com/post/55645022159).


End file.
